


The One

by Coshledak



Series: get myself back home [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Brogane, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coshledak/pseuds/Coshledak
Summary: Fate has a funny way of pointing you in the right direction. Sometimes by making you look like an idiot by dropping a file on the floor.





	The One

Shiro’s there when his parents meet with the social worker. He insisted on it, the same way he insisted that they foster a child as soon as possible. 

The man who shows up seems cheerful but tired at the same time. If “professional” had a physical denotation, it would be the man sitting at their circular kitchen table. He pulls a number of files out of his satchel and sets them on the table, and Shiro isn’t sure if the fluttering sensation in his stomach is good or bad. On the one hand, a younger brother or sister could be in this pile and that’s quite exciting. On the other, the idea of essentially _picking_ a child gives off the air that the others aren’t good enough for their home and that feels wrong.

 _It’s not that they’re not good enough,_ his mother soothed. _It’s that we have limitations. We can’t save them all, Takashi._

They don’t even know if they can “save” the one they choose. What is it to save a kid, anyway? Just giving them a home is only the first step. It’s after that that everything gets complicated and muddy.

The files are set out like they’re meant to be picked up, so he and his parents all reach for different ones while the social worker talks.

“These are some of the children we have staying in our care who are looking for new homes,” he explains. “Since you’re new to the system, we tried to pick some of the children who would be the best fit for new foster parents.”

“How do you determine that?” Shiro finds himself asking, having only glanced at the file he’d taken.

The social worker sighs, and Shiro has to check back on if what he said was troublesome in anyway. Seeming to catch himself, the social worker straightens a little, “Good grades, good reports from other social workers about their stays in other foster homes and temporary living.”

 _Easy,_ Shiro thinks. _No problems or trauma._

“Of course, we also tried to keep your age-range in mind.”

The boy in his file certainly fits that to a T. Mostly As and Bs. Shiro’s parents didn’t want a young child, maybe middle-school aged or early high school, and he’s about there. The reports from his temporary home are glowing, and he also hasn’t been there for very long. A picture of him smiles up from the file, blond hair and green-gray eyes.

He’s suddenly wishing he’d left the choice up to his parents. They seem to be having an easier time consulting the files and discussing them quietly. Though the words “this one looks nice” never leave their lips, Shiro finds that his mind can’t come up with any other phrase. But the _insensitivity_ in the words is something he hates. They aren’t picking a car. They’re giving a child a home.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. But as he stands up to excuse himself and put the closed file back on the table, he knocks another one off. “Sorry!”

Ducking down to pick the file up, a few of the pages have scattered everywhere and landed awkwardly. It’s a thick file compared to the other one, and there are creases in the manilla folder containing it. It seems worn down, like it’s been opened and closed. _A lot._ There are faint indents in some of the pages, along the edges, and it’s not until he sees the snapped rubber band that he realizes it was being held closed.

The social worker scoots his chair out like he’s going to help, but Shiro waves his hand. “It’s okay. My fault. They might be out of order, though. Sorry about that, really.”

“No harm done,” he says, with all the truth of a man who is going to be the one reorganizing this folder later on.

As he’s putting the papers back inside, one of them folds over, top heavy on the corner with a paperclip. Upon flipping it over, he sees a small stack of pictures is what’s causing the top to curl down. The top-most one is of a boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with brown-black hair. It’s not long, but it curls up at the ends near his neck and hangs in his dark eyes. Something about them makes Shiro slow down.

He doesn’t stare for too long, but the social worker is answering his parents questions by now so he takes a minute to look through the file. It’s not hard to find the reason that it’s so thick. The whole thing is practically a mountain of disciplinary records, less-than-stellar report cards, and neatly filed complaints. There’s an anger in the pages that doesn’t match the heavy look of the kid in the picture. 

“Everything okay down there?” His father asks.

“Yeah,” he answers, hastily gathering up the rest of the paper and putting it in the file. He makes sure the top-most one is the one with the pictures before he stands up, holding it in his hands with some resolve. He sets it on the table, not near the social worker, but near his original seat, and flips open the top cover. “Who’s this one?”

The man seems to pale and talks like Shiro has uncovered some scandalous secret. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did that get mixed up in here? I was carrying that for another appointment later this afternoon.”

He reaches for the file folder, but Shiro keeps his hand spread out over the pages. “What’s his name?”

He’s not threatening or aggressive, but the social worker doesn’t seem like much of a fighter in physique or in psyche. “Keith. Keith Kogane.”

Shiro pulls his seat up and sits down. “Is he being put in a different home?”

“We’re…trying to place him, yes,” he answers, juggling marbles with his tongue. 

“Does he have one now?”

“Well, no.” Shiro doesn’t ask, but the social worker frowns. He guesses he doesn’t have to. “Keith is… _passionate._ It makes him difficult to place.”

“By passionate, you mean violent,” Shiro says, furrowing his brow and taking his turn to frown. “Right?”

“His file isn’t that thick because of glowing evaluations, no.” The social worker turns to Shiro’s parents, as if bidding for the more reasonable of the company at the table. “There are plenty of other children who will be a better fit for your home. Keith’s needs are…specific. We find it’s best to place foster parents with children who give them a sense of doing good. To take on a child like Keith runs the risk of disheartening new foster parents.”

Something flares in Shiro’s chest and he can see it matched in his mother’s eyes across the table. 

“Let me see that file, Takashi,” she says, and reaches for it. Shiro lets her have it, and relaxes as his dad winks at him, leaning over her shoulder to take a look.

About forty-five minutes of deliberation later, they sign the paperwork to take Keith Kogane into their home. 

Shiro reads as much of Keith’s file as he can, trying to get a two-dimensional understanding of the person they’re welcoming into their home and their lives. Judging by this, they’ve certainly bitten off more than they can chew. But Shiro keeps the pictures of Keith—under the paperclip there were several, snapshotting his life all the way back to being a toddler—spread out while he reads, trying to match the reports up to the pictures. Keith doesn’t seem overwhelming at all that way.

In parting, they walk the social worker out to the porch. Seeming more tired than when he came in, he asks, “Is there anything you’d like me to pass on to Keith?”

“What’s his favorite color?” Shiro asks, after a moment of thought. The social worker doesn’t answer, just nods.

“His favorite food,” his father asks. “If he has one. Or something he’d like to eat his first night here.”

The social worker sighs (Shiro’s lost count of the number of times he’s sighed) and nods, turning back to his car. Shiro half bets to himself that they’ll never get the answers to those questions before Keith arrives.

—

About a week later, the mail arrives with some more paperwork. This is all information for them to keep: things to give to the school when they register Keith, a few reports from the temporary home, and medical information. But stuck on the front of the stack, written on a faded yellow Post-It note, is something written in handwriting that doesn’t quite belong to an adult, but lacks the wobbly formative scrawl of a child.

It’s the first thing of Keith—not Keith’s _file,_ but _Keith_ —that Shiro ever sees.

_Red is okay._


End file.
